Oh, and God is a ninja.
Archive
Eg undrast kor mykje bly som skal til for å bli blyforgifta.
Slik fiske med stang (eit svært ineffektivt og uøkonomisk reiskap, men riktig så gøy i moderate mengder) involverer av og til fiske med blylodd. Altså, eit blylodd som dreg kroken til botnars. Kroken sit litt lenger oppe på sena. Blylodd skal altså knytast til enden av sena på noko vis. Nylonsene kan ikkje knytast i turr tilstand, for då vert ho for varm når eg dreg til knuten, og så vert snøret øydelagt av friksjonsvarmen.
Løysinga er å sutta på snøret medan ein knyt. Noko som er litt upraktisk når knuten er i eit stykke bly.
Det går sjølvsagt an å bruka ein hempesvivel, men dei kostar jo eit par kroner (nokså nøyaktig), og du skal ikkje leita lenge på veven før du finn ein puritanar som meiner at slikt er juks. Ikkje at eg har tenkt å bli ein slik.
An always interesting thing about buying stuff from IKEA is the quest for floor space to assemble on. When flat-packed, the furniture uses a little floor space. When assembled into complete bookshelves, it takes up slightly less floor space than when in boxes on the floor. During assembly, it uses a lot of floor space. I have a tiny apartment. A lot of floor space is hard to come by. One minor consequence is that I currently have to perform acrobatic feats to cross from door to assembly area, or from assembly area to kitchen. Directly from door to kitchen is impossible without means of levitation. Standing in kitchen requires considerable ability to maintain balance, since shifting my feet is not an option.
Whee!
(Pictures are taken, they may be published one day. (Curse you, not-wide-enough angle lens!))
Eit par interessante overskrifter, courtesy of VG og Dagbladet. Eg synest spesielt Afghanistan-saken var smakfull.
Likestilling er ofte fint. Men at prinsessa ikkje er tronarving er like greit.
Place: IKEA. Actors: Me, lots of other squanderers, and the IKEA employees. I have ordered a bed and a big bookshelf for home delivery, and I have a yellow bag with the regular swag. It’s twenty minutes to closing time, I’m in the big storage hall just before the registers. I’ve picked up a box containing a nifty (and heavy!) folding table (last one in the store! Ha!), and I decide to leave my cart for a few minutes, to just dash across the hall a couple of times to see if I can find a few last, light items I want. Should be much faster than pushing the heavy (and therefore inertia-laden) cart around the tables and other people in the hall, at least if not crashing into things and people is a point. Which it is. So. I go about my search. I don’t find the shelf I seek, so I go to the computer terminal to see where it is. When it gets around to waking from its slumber and helping me (well, sort of helping. Somebody™ fucked up the name substring search when they programmed the thing), I venture boldly forth, at last, to seek my fortune. Which I don’t find, ’cause it’s sold out. No matter. Mission failed. Return to cart. Which I do, ‘xcept it’s not there.
Fifteen minutes to closing time. I try to retrace my step backwards to the last point where I know for absolutely certain I had the cart. No fish. Redo. No fish. Panic mode: Run up and down the hall, peering along every rack, looking for a cart laden like mine. Still no fish. Panic panic mode mode: Run along the shelves where I know for absolutely certain I not only had the cart, but also left with it, all the while looking for my cart. Ten minutes to closing time. As I venture back to where I picked up the table, where I definitely have not been back with the cart, I notice that a yellow bag next to a near-empty cart that’s definitely not mine looks remarkably like the one I… I beg your pardon?
So. Somebody else also wanted that table, found the shelf empty, and then spotted an abandoned cart with the coveted table on, and saw fit to… rearrange the universe slightly, right? Right. No. Wrong. Because, being screwed over the table anyway so that it doesn’t really matter if I perform another minor act of irrationality, I walk the six meters to the shelf 11-39, where I picked up the table. Which is where the table is.
Five minutes to closing time.
Bloody Swedes. Thank you, yellowshirts. Here I am, giving you nearly all the money I have in return for nothing more than a bed and a pile of processed woodpulp. I didn’t order “piss off customer”, even though it was on sale.
No actual content, just a list of fun, addicting and/or insane games on the intarweb.
<Hoffa> Ekle Åsmund, legge ut linker til spill på nettet sånn helt uten videre.
One of the incrediblest things I’ve heard in a while: over a hundred children have had half their brains surgically removed as treatment of extreme seizures. Apparently it works remarkably well.
So another thing I decide that the world needs:
- A CAT scan of my head, used to construct a 3D model of my skull.
- Said model is fed to a 3D printer.
- Repeat, only this time use an MRI scan of my brain.
Voilà, I can reenact Hamlet’s conversation with Yorick with my own skull. Or, at least, a replica of it. And contemplate the mystery of the brain using my own as a paperweight.
All the technologies are right here. We have them today. We had them years ago. All that is needed is for Someone™ pull a wire from one to the other and connect them.
int main (int argc, char **argv)
{
void * handle;
void * cli;
handle = dlopen("./brugs.so", RTLD_LAZY);
if (handle)
{
*(void **) (&cli) = dlsym(handle, "CLI");
*cli();
dlclose(handle);
}
return 0;
}
Varför gör dom på detta viset?
